


Sugar Shack

by nekotachis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Dry Humping, FE3H Wank Week, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other, Pining, Pre-Timeskip Characters, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Shame, Trans Male Character, Trans Sylvain Jose Gautier, Voyeurism, no beta we die like Glenn, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekotachis/pseuds/nekotachis
Summary: Works created for the FE3H Wank Week. Tags will be updated as fics are updated.Chapter 1: Dimitri/ExperimentationChapter 2: Sylvain/Public Place/FantasizingChapter 3: Sylvix/Mutual MasturbationChapter 4: Felix/Toys
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 33
Kudos: 160
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	1. Dimitri/Experimentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His desire to be filled had been persistent, to put it simply, since as long as he could remember. His experimentation led him to places unknown, fingers rubbing lightly over his hole, but never entering, apprehension and fear tugging at him before he could go any further. He was curious, so curious, about how it felt to be entered, to be stuffed. It felt so good to rub at his tight entrance, to press up against his perineum, pleasure spreading like molasses as he fisted the head of his cock. His reasoning seemed sound to him: if it felt good from the outside, it must feel even better from the inside."

It was his 18th birthday when he decided to make the jump.

Dimitri figured it was only appropriate to wait until he was an adult before venturing down into Abyss. Certainly his _uncouth_ friends went down there before they were 18 -- there wasn’t any law forbidding them from going, but it seemed so _wrong, so improper_. So, he patiently waited, like everything else in his life: the throne, falling in love, growing up. Important things. 

It was late when he scurried down below, the tunnel dank and dimly lit, couples laughing as they traipsed between worlds. He knew he looked out of place, his posture stiff and his expression blank. The smell of beer and mildew hung heavy in the air as he passed various stalls selling assorted goods. Trinkets and books were stacked next to heaps of fried sweet goods. 

He found what he was looking for at the end of a long, dark alley. The storefront -- if you could even call it that -- was bare, the door barely opening fully into the narrow walkway. There were no windows, no signs, no sign of life save for an ornate, hanging lantern. Dimitri was assured this place would be discreet, only the best of the best, friend and confidant to all nobles. The last thing he needed was word getting out that the crown prince was seen at a place _like this._

The door looked heavy as he pushed it open, sliding between one world and into another. 

A package was ready for him when he walked in, arrangements made prior to his arrival. He cradled the non-descript box in his arms, brown paper scratchy against his hands, and acutely aware of the _weight_ of the object inside. The salesperson’s expression was blank, but they offered him a curt nod before leading him back out into the Abyss.

* * *

Dimitri’s stomach was in knots on his dash back to his room at Garreg Mach. Not only did he agree to set up a plan so _profane_ as this, but he actually went through with it. The _scandal_ if he was caught, if anyone even saw him, if the storekeep snitched, would be disastrous. It would be an embarrassment to his family line. His hands trembled slightly, and he gripped the package tighter as he took the steps up to his dormitory two at a time. The hallway was quiet, most of his peers already down for the night.

His room was a safe refuge, a ship anchored on a lone island. The messy desk and neatly made bed felt like home to him, hints of boyhood sprouting up amongst the overgrowing objects of adulthood -- a small, overloved lion at his desk next to a professional quill and inkwell, a worn blanket amongst clean pressed sheets. It was a room in transition, much like Dimitri himself.

As he sat down on the mattress, feeling himself sink with the full weight of his body, he felt much more _adult_ than ever before. Carefully, he tore apart the brown paper, folding it delicately before moving onto the flimsy wooden box. He dug his nails under the seam, the wood top sliding slowly. He paused at its unveiling, hands shaking. If anyone knew that he owned this, he would be expelled, excommunicated, _extinguished_. 

Nestled snugly between shreds of paper and fabric was a solid glass dildo, strands of gold and silver running through the center like molten metal. It wasn’t exactly true to life -- sure, it had a familiar bulbous head and long, curved shaft, but besides that the details were minimal. The shop had included a small vial of oil, unscented, and he was grateful for their foresight. 

Dimitri heard himself swallow, mouth dry, as he lifted it out of it’s case, fingers wrapping around it like the shaft of a lance.

His desire to be filled had been persistent, to put it simply, since as long as he could remember. His experimentation led him to places unknown, fingers rubbing lightly over his hole, but never entering, apprehension and fear tugging at him before he could go any further. He was curious, so curious, about how it felt to be entered, to be stuffed. It felt so good to rub at his tight entrance, to press up against his perineum, pleasure spreading like molasses as he fisted the head of his cock. His reasoning seemed sound to him: if it felt good from the outside, it must feel even better from the inside.

The moment he heard about toys meant for _this purpose_ , his investigation began. The shopkeepers were kind throughout the process, helping him select the most comfortable toy for a _beginner_ , smiles on their faces as copious amounts of gold were exchanged.

Stiffly, he undressed, folding his clothes in a neat pile and leaving his plain white undershirt on. Dimitri shuffled onto the bed, lying on his back with his legs spread, as he uncorked the bottle of oil. It felt nice between his fingers, viscous and easy to warm, and he felt his cock twitch with interest. 

He ran his fingers up his shaft, digits dancing over the head before grasping it and slipping one delicately under his foreskin. The oil made it slicker, hotter, the familiar tightening in his gut growing. Huffing, he sped up carelessly, humping into the tight heat of his fist. Anticipation had his lips tingling and legs restless, and he worked at himself, hoping to ease the anxiety.

As he reached his peak, his thrusting slowed to a stop before pouring more oil over his fingers. It was now or never. His anxiety was growing to a fever pitch, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched resting on his shoulders as he reached behind his balls to rub at his waiting hole. 

The oil made it feel good, even better than before, and he gasped before thrusting down, his thick finger slipping in past the tight ring of muscle.

This was more than he expected, more than he prepared for. Even one finger and he felt full, and he wasn’t all the way in. His eyes were screwed shut, whines caged in his chest. Slowly, he persevered, pushing, pushing, until his index finger was fully hilted. It felt...strange. It wasn’t what he expected, tight and sore, his erection flagging slightly from disappointment. He frowned, searching with his finger before bumping up against hard, swollen tissue.

“ _Oh!_ ”

Whatever that was, it felt _amazing_ , and he repeated the action, gentle rubbing with the pad of his finger. Electricity cracked and popped, alighting sleeping nerves as it arced and coiled in his groin. Dimitri couldn’t help but push against it, hips rolling down onto his hand. This is what he must have felt, this is what he was looking for, _this_ is what he needed. 

His body’s new-found arousal was hungry, alighting a dormant need, and he slowly slipped a second finger in, wincing around the stretch before growling around the fullness. Two fingers felt better against his prostate, twice the thrust, twice the pressure, and he bit down on his unoccupied hand to stifle the moans that were begging to escape. He would need to put another finger in if he had any plans of using his toy, but uneasiness held him back. Already, he felt so full, the slight burn of newly stretched muscle finally tapering off. Adding another finger...he wasn’t sure if he would come or cry if he tried to fit it in.

Breathing deep, he bore down and slipped all three fingers in smoothly. For an eternity he sat there, squirming against the stretch, waiting for the white hot spark of arousal to ease back to a smoulder. He felt so hot inside, like silk heated in the sun, his rim hugging his fingers. If this made him feel full to the brim, he was going to die when he got his glass cock inside of him. 

His hips shifted, and his oily fingers slipped out. He felt his hole clench around nothing, and he whined, spurring himself on. 

The dildo had rested patiently next to him, the glass cool against his overheated side. The oil he poured over it slid off before pooling at the flared base, and he cautiously palmed the shaft until it felt warm to the touch. Until it felt as close to real as he could get. 

He rested the rounded glass head against his entrance, huffing and shivering under the heavy crush of anticipation. Gently, he pushed in, his rim stretching around the solid intrusion. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, like the first time he got drunk on cheap wine, exciting and easy to overindulge. And while it felt so firm going in, he was unable to stop himself, slowly, slowly advancing the dildo, his inner walls sliding along the smooth glass. He swore it was endless, and he choked on a sob, his legs falling open while his cock dripped precum onto his belly.

When it fully rested inside of him, heavy and hard, he felt his breath stolen from him. The least he could do was toss his head back, rocking against the base as he choked on sighs unable to break free.

This is what he was looking for, what he’d been searching for. The feeling of completeness, of being filled to the brim and then some. All he had to do was shift -- a little to the left, angle his hips down before rolling them back up -- and he could feel the dildo rub against his prostate. He gripped the sheets helplessly as he rutted into nothing, clear fluid dripping in rivulets from his aching erection.

He couldn’t contain himself anymore, wanton sighs and high pitched whines breaking free. His orgasm was fast approaching, an unstoppable force unlike anything he’s experienced before. It sparked deep inside of him, the sensitive nerves under assault, before catching like a forest fire, flames crawling up his spine and wrapping tight around his throat. He felt feral, like an animal, chasing after base pleasure, and one day he’d have another boy on top of him, another boy taking him from behind, someone to fill him, to complete him. 

Gripping his cock with both hands, red and swollen with intense arousal, he thrust frantically, pre-cum and _fluid_ smearing over his hands and groin. His shirt was hiked up, his tight belly and flush chest exposed.

His orgasm hit him like an explosion, fire doused with gasoline, white hot and breathtaking. Ropes of cum shot out as he held himself still, hands still wrapped around his cock. It dribbled down into his belly button and pooled in the valley between his pecs, searing against his skin. It was endless, a full body experience that left him lightheaded, and he thought that perhaps this is how he would die, barely 18 and choking on his own orgasm.

As quickly as he came up, he collapsed down, boneless. He felt like he weighed a ton, limbs uncooperating as he made an attempt to pull the toy out of him. It was painful having it inside, his prostate sore and swollen, and he pulled it out gently with a grimace, wincing at the wet sound it made as it fell onto the bed. He gulped, some nerves frayed and some rewiring, the sheets feeling unbelievably soft under his overstimulated body.

Dimitri felt too big for his skin, suddenly self aware of what he just did. Of course he knew what he was getting into when he bought that damned toy. He bought it with a purpose, and he was going to use it for its intended purpose, but the reality left him feeling empty and confused. He liked how it felt, a _lot_ , and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to go back to his old way of _releasing tension_. It was like feeding a stray a scrap of beef -- once you know the pleasure of a delicacy, it’s impossible to go back to how life was before. He was hungry, even if his arousal was sated. 

As he mopped up his ejaculate and wiped his legs down, he wondered if they made anything bigger than what he bought.


	2. Sylvain: Public Places/Fantasizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Unrequited love required creative solutions, and from it came Sylvain’s weekly ritual. In the dark corner of the classroom, Sylvain would slip his hands down the front of his pants, silently bringing himself to completion, eyes burning into the back of Dimitri’s head. Sometimes he wondered if Dimitri knew -- could feel his gaze heavy on the back of his neck, searing into his skin. Sylvain both wanted to know and never wanted to find out."

Sylvain always took the last seat in the back of the class. Most of his peers assumed he was back there because he was lazy. If he wasn’t arriving late, he was nodding off over an open textbook, or doodling on the margins of all of his tests. It was safe being in the back. Less people noticed you, the exit was closer, and you could work at your own pace. 

The real reason was more insidious. 

Sylvain fought for his life to take that final seat. It gave him the perfect view of Dimitri, diligently working, head bowed as he scribbled out notes. Framed between the bodies of two other students, Sylvain could safely observe him, the way his mouth quirked up into a slight smile when he knew the right answer, or a deep frown when he was confused. The way he scratched at the wood desk when he was bored, nail-shaped indents left behind. His eyes always lit up, Sylvain had once noted, every time the Professor called his name. He was so eager, so _willing_ , his childlike naivete replaced by an inquisitive nature that Sylvain was desperate to provoke.

Suffice to say, Sylvain had a little crush on his friend.

Unrequited love required creative solutions, and from it came Sylvain’s weekly ritual. In the dark corner of the classroom, Sylvain would slip his hands down the front of his pants, silently bringing himself to completion, eyes burning into the back of Dimitri’s head. Sometimes he wondered if Dimitri knew -- could feel his gaze heavy on the back of his neck, searing into his skin. Sylvain both wanted to know and never wanted to find out.

Today had been _rough_. Dimitri had been all over him today and he couldn’t figure out why. Morning training was painful, their lances beating and breaking against each other with a fury. Dimitri was fighting with an energy Sylvain couldn’t place, something cruel and hungry, his smile toothy as he shoved Sylvain onto his back for the nth time. Lunch was _marginally better_ as they sat next to each other, knees pressed together under the table as they chatted. Sylvain wondered if Dimitri could feel the static arcing off of his leg, the goosebumps along his arms when he felt the brush of Dimitri’s hand against his as they casually reached across the table. They walked to class after, Dimitri too close for Sylvain’s sanity, the warmth of his body radiating through their school uniforms. He looked handsome today, more than usual, a spark back in his eyes and a light pep in his step.

If Dimitri was a girl, Sylvain would just fuck her. If he was any other guy, he’d just flirt. But this was _Dimitri_ , his best friend, his _liege_. He couldn’t just walk up to him and proposition him. Besides the impropriety of it all, Sylvain had never had feelings like this before. He thought love was like a house fire, slow to catch and quick to burn down, all heat and nothing left behind. These feelings he was having were deeper, heavier, _cooler_. It smouldered, and he didn’t know how to manage it. What he desired was slower, fuzzy, a campfire on a cool night. 

So he willed his erection down all morning, and by the time the bell rang for class his balls were sore and heavy with repressed desire. 

As he sat down in the hard wooden seat, Dimitri in perfect view, his erection sprang back to life. Oh, how he wanted to feel the weight of his body on top of his during training today, tasting his sweat as it dripped into his mouth. He wanted to hold his hand under the table, feeling the clench of his fingers intertwined with his. He wanted to, _needed to_ , kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, the scent of him strong and heady. 

Sylvain’s hand rested on the bulge in his pants, innocent enough. To any onlooker, he was just resting. Shifting, he spread his legs a bit wider to accommodate himself, before scanning the room. Everyone seemed well occupied right now, focused on the Professor's lecture -- something about tactics and utilizing swords. Now was his chance, with nobody looking his way, the Professor’s voice filling the room. If he kept his head forward, he just looked like everyone else right now. 

He grasped himself through his uniform trousers and bit back a hiss, one hand fumbling with a pencil on the desktop. Slowly, he rubbed against the clothed head, just small circles, barely foreplay. His breath was steady, his eyes drooping down but focused on the back of Dimitri’s head, tracing the sharp line between his pale skin and the dark collar of his uniform.

In a different life, he’d take Dimitri back to his dorm after class, slip his fingers under that unbearably tight collar. His fingers would run along his throat, feel the prickly hairs at his neck, his mouth following in the wake of his touch. In his fantasy, he heard Dimitri’s breath hitch in his ear, his arm wrapping around Sylvain’s waist to bring him closer, chests touching, desperate to grind against --

“Ok students, put your notebooks away and pass back the test I’m handing out. Take two pages each.”

The Professor’s change in tone snapped him out of his head, both hands quickly on the counter to avoid suspicion. Peeking underneath, he noticed a wet spot blooming on the front of his pants. _Damnit_. 

People were turning around, passing papers back and forth. Dimitri was turning, smiling politely at the person behind him as he handed over a stack of papers. Sylvain wanted to run his hand over that cheek, dip his finger in between those soft lips. For a brief moment, he thought they might make eye contact, and Dimitri would _know, see_ his desire written across his face, but he turned back around before they could connect.

“ _Sylvain_! Hello? Are you in there?” Some new student was shaking papers in front of his face. He must have zoned out.

“Oh, heh, sorry about that.” He took the last two sheets, skimming the pages as the student turned around, grumbling about his laziness. The words on the page were meaningless to him, his cock painfully hard and his brain saturated with sex. Looking up, everyone seemed focused, even the Professor, nose deep in a book. The room was silent save for the rattle of the windows from the early spring breeze and the scratch of pencils on paper.

Casually, he dropped a hand to his lap much like before, head bowed. The wet spot was cold now, and he slowly sunk his fingers under the waistband of his pants, feeling the heated skin and soft hair underneath. He swallowed and hoped nobody heard, the thrill of being caught conflicting with the thrill of remaining hidden. His hand slipped down further, clammy palm catching along his pubic hair. 

Beneath long eyelashes, he brought his gaze gently upwards, watching Dimitri as he filled out his test. He was always so diligent, so compliant. The slope of Dimitri’s shoulders was evident now, the curve of his normally straight spine on view. He fisted the pencil like a weapon, and Sylvain wondered if he’d fist his cock like that, too, or would he have to be taught, eager and quick to learn.

His cock flexed, and his palm made contact with it, burning hot in the humid space in his underwear. Choking back a groan, he started to rut ever so slightly, a barely perceptible movement. His toes felt numb in his boots, his heart pounding like a war drum. He loved these moments best, the rush and urgency, the anxiety transmogrifying into distilled arousal. 

Dimitri changed positions, and Sylvain froze, his hand still grasping himself. Enrapt, he watched as Dimitri brought his pencil to his mouth, resting the top on his lower lip where it pressed down, indenting the plush tissue. Gripping himself harder, Sylvain sighed and shifted. Next time, his finger would be in place of that pencil, slipping in as Dimitri suckled on his digit. Next time, it would be his cock, hard and dripping, as Dimitri’s pink tongue darted out to lick at the tip. Dimitri would be a _good boy_ , opening wide while he thrust in that hot mouth. Sylvain bet he would even open wide and hold still, one eye open as Sylvain bust all over that cute blush.

He was unbearably hard, squeezing his cock and palming the head like he would die without relief. His breaths were metered, artificially controlled. One day he was going to scream, moan, shout, _anything_ , the pressure and arousal so built up inside of him waiting to break free. Putting his head down on his desk, he panted silently, chest heaving as his balls tightened with his impending orgasm. A rivulet of drool spilled over his lip, sliding down to connect to the desk surface.

He wanted to drool in Dimitri’s mouth. He wanted to taste him, every part of him, _consume him_ until their lines were blurred and one body did not exist without the other. He wanted, he _hungered_.

He choked back a shout as his orgasm ripped through him, digging his heels into the ground and curling inwards in his seat. Helplessly, he held himself still as his cock pulsed, spurts of cum soaking into his underwear. Blood rushed in his ears and his mind blanked. He was wiped out, trying to pant as softly as possible as his erection softened immediately.

“Time’s up! Hand in your papers, everyone.” His head shot up from the desk.

_The test_. He completely forgot. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dimitri, ever so diligent, collect the papers from people in his row. If anyone got close to him, it’d be obvious what he was doing. Nobody took a test and got out of breath doing it, at least not a _paper_ test. And his face was flushed, hair a bit sweaty as it stuck to his head.

He could do this, he could get himself out of this. He’s gotten out of worse. At least his pants were still on.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri was above him, stack of papers in his arms, a look of concern across his face. “Are you ok? Your test is empty.”

The best he could do was look up in stunned silence, eyes wide as he slumped further under his desk. There was no way this was happening right now. No way. 

Dimitri’s brow knit in confusion, frowning, before realization dawned across his face. Sylvain could feel his heart crumble, humiliated.

“Did you really--, I can’t believe you--” 

Dimitri took the empty test, turning on his heels abruptly to walk away. 

It rained, it poured, and Sylvain got in dirty messes.


	3. Sylvix/Mutual Masturbation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'You ever see a pussy up close, Felix?”
> 
> If looks could kill, Sylvain was positive he would have been murdered. Dismembered. Burnt alive. But, oh, that scowl was so cute, almost pouty in nature. Felix’s fingers dug into his thighs, blanching at the tips.
> 
> “What’s it to you? I’m looking at one right now.'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a trans male character.
> 
> Words used for genitals are both AFAB and a bit of AMAB - "cunt", "pussy", and "cock" are used.

“You ever see a pussy up close, Felix?”

If looks could kill, Sylvain was positive he would have been murdered. Dismembered. Burnt alive. But, oh, that scowl was so cute, almost pouty in nature. Felix’s fingers dug into his thighs, blanching at the tips.

“What’s it to you? I’m looking at one right now.”

Felix was always so predictable. Sylvain _knew_ Felix had never been this close to him, or anyone for that matter, regardless of their genitalia. Sylvain was Felix’s first everything - first kiss, first love, first _hand holding_. He liked that about him, that every moment they had together was unique and individual, never before experienced. So what, Sylvain liked to fuck virgins. He liked their hungry looks, their desperate need for guidance, and Felix was in need for some serious guidance right now.

He ran his hand through Felix’s hair, unbound and tossed over one shoulder. He was belly down between Sylvain’s spread thighs, face first with Sylvain’s cunt. 

“You know what I mean, Fe. Have you ever touched one? Or do you need me to show you around?” He couldn’t help the teasing lilt in his voice, the flush on Felix’s face growing. _So friggin cute._

“Here,” Sylvain shifted, sinking down and spreading his legs further. “You watch, I’ll show you. Make sure you raise your hand if you have any questions.” 

Felix grumbled at that, but he didn’t turn away, still gripping Sylvain’s legs.

Sylvain ran his fingers through coarse hair, using two fingers to pull apart his lips. His cock was already hard, peeking through the hood.

“Do you know what this is?” He pulled back, exposing more of himself, gentle touches circling the tip. Soft tingles crackled through his gut, and he tilted his head and sighed. Felix gulped, quickly glancing up at him as if to ask _are you serious?_

“It’s, uh…” Felix chewed on his cheek, apprehensive. His voice was small when he answered, head tipped down into the mattress, “your...uh…”

Sylvain’s laugh was deep and throaty. It was heaven to have Felix underneath him like this, uncomfortable and squirming, and they hadn’t even started yet. It made him so _wet_ , so hard just watching him struggle. If their first kiss was any indication, tonight was going to be an _intense night_.

“It’s my cock, sweetheart,” and he gave a soft tug in response, two fingers pulling the hood up and over before dragging it back. Felix’s eyes were burning onto his body, hyperfocused on Sylvain’s motions, etching it into his memory. It felt so good to be watched, to be studied like a work of art. Next time he’d teach Felix how to mouth it, lick the tip before suckling, and Sylvain would make him a pro, his mouth made to fit around his body and nobody else’s.

“It’s uh...bigger. Than I thought.” 

He smirked at him, sultry, his eyes drooping shut as electric desire built in his gut. He felt himself getting wetter, the embarrassment blooming across Felix’s face at the _realization_ of what he said only spurring Sylvain’s energy on.

“Oh, so you’ve _thought_ , have you?” Sylvain shifted, hips scooting down and legs spreading wider, exposing a hint of his pink core, auburn hair damp with his slick. Felix was staring, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. Felix _thought about him_ , his naked body, his wet cunt. A wave of pleasure crested at the thought, and Sylvain moaned, rubbing against himself harder. Felix called him _big_ , what a flatterer. Underneath that thorny exterior was a true charmer. 

Felix was whining, quietly, barely more than a breath, but Sylvain caught it, kept it locked up for further use. The bed was shaking every so slightly, Felix rocking his hips into the mattress, and it was unbelievably hot to watch, bits of his control stripping away at the mere sight of Sylvain’s dripping pussy. Who would have guessed Felix was such a desperate slut?

His voice was soft when he spoke up, breathless. “Sylvain. Show me more.”

“Oh, Felix -,” Sylvain sobbed, using two fingers to spread himself open, exposing his wet hole, his slick inner lips. He felt hot breaths on his thigh, and Felix’s head was against it, softly panting as he watched Sylvain run his fingers through the dampness. His toes were splayed, pushing him ever so slightly closer, deeper into the bed, and he ran his tongue along his lower lip like a taunt. 

“This is -,” another moan, louder, deeper, as he pressed gently at his entrance. “You’re gunna fuck it, _ah_ , next time.”

“ _Sylvain!_ ” Felix was sobbing now, rutting desperately into the sheets. Just from this little show and Felix was emotive, bare and broken open. Sylvain couldn’t even imagine what it would be like the first time they _fucked_ , what Felix would say as he slid his cock into his heat, his first time. _His first time_. He wanted to be his first and his last, the only pussy he’d ever know.

Felix watched rapt as Sylvain slipped a finger in, mouth open in a silent whine. His gaze was reverent, and he scanned up to make eye contact, pleading and jealous. He looked pathetic, and Sylvain _loved it_ , how in mere moments Felix had turned into taffy, waiting for his command. 

Sylvain’s stomach knotted under his boyfriend’s intense gaze. It was their secret, just between them, Felix begging silently just for a taste, for a touch. He wanted to cum all over that face, look down between his legs and see his desperate look, drunk on pussy and sex. This was a different side of Felix, all for Sylvain, new and unused. He felt another spark of pleasure, fuzzy and warm as it filled his chest. 

He plunged a second finger in, hips chasing after his hand. Felix was rutting hard now, barely perceptible pleas tumbling out of his open mouth. Sweat dripped down his cheek, pooling at the base of his neck, and Sylvain felt too big for his skin, swollen and ripe. His insides clenched around his two fingers, milking him as he aimed for his tender spot. Everything felt hot, raw, exposed.

“Tell me,” he panted out, “what you want.” He was going to explode soon, he felt it in his bones. 

Felix’s voice was wet as he sobbed, face close enough to Sylvain’s sex that he could feel his hot breaths. His hips were frantically rolling, rutting against the bed, his shoulders and back tight, and Sylvain wanted to run his hands up them, feel the magnetic energy, the _pulse_.

“ _You-_ ” 

“No, what _do you want._ ” Sylvain stuffed a third finger in, hunched over as he pounded into himself. He needed to hear Felix say it, couldn’t come until he did.

“ _Sylvain!_ ” Drool dribbled down Felix’s chin as his knees dug into the mattress. They were both far gone, so close to the end.

“ _Say it,_ ” A growl, deep, deeper than Felix had ever heard before. 

“ _I need your pussy,_ ” Felix’s voice was tense and high pitched, and he struggled to get the words out. “Please, _Syl-!_ ”

He watched as Felix’s hips stuttered before stilling, his whole body tense with the rush of his orgasm. Felix was so helpless like this, his face buried in the mattress as staccato cries pulsed from his chest. It was the hottest thing Sylvain had ever seen, would ever see. 

In response, his cunt pulsed and fluttered, toeing the edge. Never in his life did he expect to hear Felix Fraldarius say “pussy” _and_ come on the bed sheets, and it stoked his arousal something fierce, a beast trying to break free from its chains. All these firsts, just for him, nobody else. 

As he watched Felix come down, Sylvain came up, pounding into himself as he came with a growl, slick seeping out around his fingers. It rolled in waves, filling him up to his throat before receding, only to catch up with him again. His back arched, and he reached out to Felix’s hair to ground himself, weightless and breathless with the intensity of his orgasm. 

At some point he must have closed his eyes. His head felt like cotton, a bright afterglow enveloping him. Running his clean hand over Felix’s cheek, he laughed at the blissful look on his face. Their first time. Felix’s first time. It felt special, sacred to be able to see Felix like this, his first afterglow. 

They giggled, soft and sweet and unlike both of them, love drunk.

“That good, huh?”


	4. Felix/Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Felix couldn’t pinpoint when he started humping _things_ instead of just using his hands like everyone else. It felt good enough to jerk off the “normal” way, fucking up into his hand, rolling his foreskin up and over the pink head, but it never compared to the crush, the _pressure_ of fucking up against his pillow. At this point it had become the _only way_ he could get off, rolling his hips hard against whatever supple surface he could find."

The lock slid shut with an audible click as Felix waited, listening for any signs of life in the hallway.

Classes had ended about an hour prior, and Felix was ready to enjoy some solitary silence. Dinner was rushed, followed by a quick trip to the baths before sprinting to his room, elbowing Sylvain off of him. The touch made his already tense shoulders tighter, a bomb waiting to explode. There would be time to chat tomorrow, and if whatever he had to say was so important, surely it would get back to him eventually. 

The hallway was silent -- everyone was settling into their respective places to prepare for another busy day. He was safe. For now.

Carelessly, Felix stripped down to his underwear as he shuffled across the room, tossing his vest and shirt over the back of his desk chair. His bed was calling to him with it’s cool sheets, the heavy blanket, the muffled silence, and nothing was going to stop him from melting right down into it. He had everything he needed right here; his teapot was full, his textbooks stacked near his nightstand, a low-lit candle adding to the ambiance. His room was his refuge, and as long as that door was locked, nobody could get in. Sure, they could _try_ , but _nobody_ was going to get in without being greeted with the end of his blade.

As he sunk into the familiar comfort of his feather bed, shoulders and back relaxing, he couldn’t ignore the undeniable stirring of something electric in his belly. 

He hated how his body made him acknowledge his base needs, how his body refused to let the subject drop. He came back to his room to rest, maybe get a bit of reading done, before drifting off peacefully to sleep. Getting caught up in the complexities of _arousal_ was annoying at best and utterly humiliating at worst. It was like a light had been lit the moment he was set free from his family home; he certainly _touched himself_ when he was at home, silently and quickly in his childhood bedroom, but his desire reached a fever pitch as he rolled into his late teens and early adulthood. It was unquenchable, with a mind of its own, holding him by the literal and metaphorical balls. He had heard enough about how apparently common this was from his friends, the unexplained erections, the primal need to fuck and be fucked. It wasn’t like it didn’t feel good inasmuch that Felix hated the inconvenience of it all, the lack of control. He wanted to rest -- his body wanted something else.

Sighing, he reached down to run his fingertips tentatively over his growing erection. He didn’t need to attend to it for long for it to grow full and hot, and a few gentle caresses were all that it took for it to grow to its full potential. It felt good enough, and he squirmed, convincing himself he needed something more.

His belly flipped with nervous energy as he tugged his underwear down and off, kicking it under the blankets. He stretched, all limbs out, toes splayed, arching his back to feel the silky rub of fabric against his raw and sensitive body. With a tentative tug at his cock, he reached over for something in his bed, rolling further to lie flat on his belly.

Blindly, his hands closed around something fuzzy and familiar -- his favorite stuffed animal, the black fur velvety under his sweaty fingers. His friends had gotten it for him as a gift many years ago, a huggable, plump black and white cat, with a velvet pink nose and a red ribbon around its neck. It was hard to deny it’s cuteness, it’s big beady eyes staring back at him, non judgemental. Sylvain had laughed at him when he saw it resting on his bed at their arrival at Garreg Mach, commenting that he still was the same old tender Felix. And while Felix would never tell a soul, it brought a certain comfort to him that he was too afraid to ask for from anyone else.

He also learned that it felt _really_ good to rub up against it when he jerked off.

Felix couldn’t pinpoint when he started humping _things_ instead of just using his hands like everyone else. It felt good enough to jerk off the “normal” way, fucking up into his hand, rolling his foreskin up and over the pink head, but it never compared to the crush, the _pressure_ of fucking up against his pillow. At this point it had become the _only way_ he could get off, rolling his hips hard against whatever supple surface he could find.

It was pure curiosity that had him attempt to get off using his stuffed cat -- it’s not like he was turned on by stuffed toys, but the texture and give of it’s body awoke something in him that he needed to decipher. As he ran his palm over the soft belly, he wondered how the different texture of the fur would feel against him. Would it be prickly and hard? Would it be hot and sticky? The first time he came against it, shame spiked through his gut. How could he have done something so _debase_ , so _repulsive_ , to a cute, stuffed toy his friends gave him? It felt like sullying a precious memory, something innocent and child-like. 

Even now, as he rubbed at the worn fur along the small ears, he felt embarrassment bloom. Sometimes he wished he didn’t need this to feel good, could just pound one out like he would occasionally catch someone doing shamelessly in the baths. The longer he pondered it, the more he felt his breath choke in his throat. It made his erection that much harder when he felt so small under the weight of his shame. 

Felix lifted his hips to position the toy so that his cock lay across it’s seamless belly. Already, the velveteen fur felt like liquid under his aching cock, and he gave a tentative hump to position it. Even though the door was locked, he tossed a furtive glance back to double check, before gently rolling his hips against the toy. Felix gasped, barely more than a rush of air, reaching up to wrap his arms around his pillow and burying his face in it.

He built a steady pace, his erection locked between his stomach and the stuffed cat. The pressure and friction was mounting, hot and tight as he ground down with a particularly hard thrust, eliciting a soft whine. It shouldn’t feel this good, he thought, as heated pleasure built in his groin, unable to stop the slow roll of his defined hips. 

Hugging the pillow tighter, he could pretend it was someone else underneath him, someone tall and broad, belly tense and toned from training, with a soft dusting of dark hair over his chest. He rutted harder, hips lifting off the mattress before dropping down to grind deep and hard. Pre-cum bubbled up as his cock twitched, smearing over the black fabric.

Small, high pitched whines broke free from his chest as his hips sped up, the bed rocking ever so slightly. He wanted to cry, wanted to spit, wanted to bite and beg for more -- more heat, more pressure. He wanted, no, _needed_ the hot crush of another body against him, the strings in his heart tugging at the long-repressed need for intimacy. _It shouldn’t feel this good_ , he repeated like a mantra, cock throbbing as a particularly hard thrust reverberated through his whole body. 

He felt his balls tighten, pulling closer as the pressure in his body grew, knees digging in to grind down harder, faster. He was close, so close, could feel it in the weightlessness of his body and the tingle of his toes. His cock felt raw and damp with dribbled pre-cum, and he reached between his body and the mattress to cup the swollen head, thrusting into the humid heat of his palm as the shaft rubs against the heated fake fur. It felt electric, like his body was building static, hoarding energy deep in his guts, painfully hard with every nerve ending alight. 

With a drawn out moan, he came, biting into the fabric of the pillow as he worked himself through his orgasm. His breath stopped and stutterd with every spurt of milky cum, his body weightless with release. It dribbled between his fingers, smearing over the crushed toy underneath him. 

For a moment he felt sick, the familiar feeling of shame and betrayal (betrayal of what? Betrayal of who? Felix could never figure it out) washing over him like stagnant water, slimy and lukewarm. He peeled himself off his messy stuffed toy, kneeling with the blankets draping over him like a cape. Sweat dripped down between his tits, the sheets wet from sweat and cum. He chewed on his lip, calculating. There was another reason why _this_ was so inconvenient for him -- the mess he always managed to leave behind. 

Annoyed, he got up, blanket draped over his shoulders and stuffed cat tucked under his arm, as he dug through his belongings for a towel, pouring out some of the water from his full teapot to dampen it. He knew how ridiculous he looked, squatting naked on the floor while he furiously scrubbed at his stuffed cat, but he was aware enough with what happened when you _left it there_ to make that mistake again. Frowning, he thumbed over the damp spot on it’s back. His shoulders felt less tense despite being hunched, and his brain was fuzzy with that post-orgasm afterglow, but something deep inside of him stirred, a longing he couldn’t place for someone he couldn’t name.

He turned the stuffed cat over, watching its limbs flop, loose from being overloved. 

“Sorry about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Title from _Gone Sugaring_ by Mirah.
> 
> Thanks to @aurnion for helping out :)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nekotachis)


End file.
